Inquisitor Amahri Lavellan Drabbles
by Feenacanyon
Summary: A series of drabbles regarding my "kid!quisitor" Amahri Lavellan, Dalish mage.
1. Chapter 1

"Be careful!" Blackwall called out to the elf. Well, at least Cassandra wasn't the only one to notice. In most things Amahri exercised what Cassandra considered a reasonable amount of caution for his position; he was not a trained combatant but was forced into many dangerous situations. He had learned quickly to stay in the back, to keep his head down, and to _always_ listen to her orders. Something she felt others in their party would do well to imitate (she eyed Bull and a vision of Varric came to mind as she thought this). And yet, now Amahri was completely ignoring her instruction.

They were traveling along the Storm Coast in search of missing Inquisition soldiers in the pouring rain. The steep cliffs, long grass and craggy rocks sticking out of the landscape were all soaked and slippery, and yet Amahri hopped and skipped off one surface to the next with apparently no regard for his safety. When they neared the cliffs bordering the beach he scampered right up to the edge and _leaned out_ to pear down the beach. Cassandra had no particular fear of heights, but she was aware that taking a fall down those rocks would be fatal, and that they were all more prone to losing their footing in the damp weather than usual.

Amahri glanced back over his shoulder _as he jumped_ from one rock to the next at Blackwall's voice, smiled, and continued on his merry way. Cassandra grunted her disapproval; again.

"Come away from that edge, Herald." She said sternly.

"I can see a long ways from here, I might see some sign of our patrol." He threw back. He did not usually argue with her, or disregard Blackwall.

"Perhaps, but I do not wish to see your body at the bottom of those rocks, come down." She was even more insistent this time, she seemed to the rest to have an infinite capacity for becoming more serious.

Amahri turned abruptly at this tone, although he still did not come.

"I'll be alright. Scouting in the rain is one thing I have had a lot of practice at." He finished with a smile. Cassandra huffed. She knew rather little of what he'd done before she met him, and her impression of him perhaps gave him less credit than he deserved. She wasn't going to give that credence now however.  
Blackwall intervened.

"That may be, but you're giving this old Warden heart palpitations. Come here."

Amahri scowled just slightly for a moment but this time did as asked, although he continued to hop from rock to rock, just a good ways from the cliff.

"If you two want him to ever be anything more than a figure head you should give him some leash." Bull cut in from behind the pair.

"You think it's a good idea to be prancing around a cliff edge?" Cassandra replied, although the statement hit home a bit.

Bull shrugged. "Just saying." Then he strode past the two and caught up with Amahri, saying something about water bombs.


	2. Chapter 2

"You were injured, Cassandra! What was I supposed to do?" Amahri said in a gasp, he was still breathing hard after the fight.

"I was fine, Herald. You should have stayed were you were on the scaffold!" Cassandra hissed and pulled her arm away from Amahri who had been reaching out to heal it.

"Fine? You're bleeding now, and had dropped your shield. You could have been killed!" Amahri looked up at her with more intensity than she had previously witnessed in him.

"I would have managed!" Now she was yelling, she had a tendency to do that.

Varric scoffed behind her.

"Shut up, Dwarf!" She threw at him, turning back to Amahri before Varric could retaliate. "Solas has been teaching you magic precisely to make you less of a threat in combat and to keep you safe! Jumping into the middle of a fight and throwing fire balls is not going to do that!"

"I was trying to get their attention off of you!" Amahri actually yelled back. That was a rare thing indeed.

"That is not your place!"

"I know that! I know-my job is just to...close the breach. Fine. I understand." He suddenly stopped yelling as his shoulders dropped. There was an awkward silence, only everyone's heavy breathing could be heard. Amahri slid his staff into the sling on his back as he turned and went back into the entry room they'd cleared coming in. Cassandra felt instantly that she had misstepped, she didn't need it pointed out. Not that that was going to stop anyone present.

"He saved your life you know." Varric said. She didn't need to turn to see his arms crossed, she could hear it. Bull had finished removing his battle axe from the wall it had been stuck in. He hadn't seen the 'event' and so had not contributed to the argument up to now.

"Seems to me jumping into danger to protect people is exactly his job. He is your "Herald of Andraste" afterall, isn't he?" Bull said as he stretched his shoulders. Cassandra sighed, though it still sounded somewhat like a disparaging grunt.

"Search the room." She ordered as she went to follow Amahri. Varric and Bull eyed each other, but figured they should let those two work it out from here.

Cassandra passed into the next room and was for a moment panicked as she did not see the Herald; then she spotted him sitting in the doorway on the broken steps.

She crossed the floor and somewhat awkwardly came to stand beside him.

"May I sit?"  
Amahri just nodded. Cassandra stiffly sat down.

"I'm-sorry. I should not have yelled at you. You saved me and I-well, thank you." Cassandra did not have much practice with apologies or thank yous, and she'd just put both into the same sentence.

Amahri didn't meet her gaze, although he turned a little towards her.

"Your arm is still bleeding. Let me?" She extended her arm and he carefully began healing the sat in silence for a few moments before Amahri looked up at her.

"I know you just want to protect me, Cassandra. And I appreciate that, believe me. I know I need it too, I'm not trained for combat. And I know how important it is that I close the breach but...I can't just.." He trailed off.

"I know. You want to save people, it's why you agreed to help close the breach in the first place. And why so many see you as more than-" Amahri gave her a look; he was Dalish. He was not overfond of people thinking him a holy symbol of Andraste and the Maker. Cassandra smiled and let the thought drop.

"What we-what I ask of you must seem quite contradictory. To go out and try to gather allies for the Inquisition, to walk into danger...and then I chastise you for being in dangerous situations. You are very good at building alliances; you've even convinced the rebel mages to come to our aid. You serve the Inquisition best out here. And so it is my duty to protect you. I am sorry I do not always carry it out with grace."

Amahri finished and Cassandra withdrew her arm, examining the now smooth skin and the tear in her sleeve.

"You do it pretty well I'd say. I'm still alive."

"You give yourself too little credit. Perhaps so do I. You have become much more proficient in combat." Cassandra rested her hands in her lap.

Amahri looked away into the woods for a moment, and Cassandra felt a strange twinge. He looked older; more tired? Then he was smiling at her again.

"Thank you, from you that is quite the complement."

"Meaning?" She raised an eyebrow at him. He gaped and threw his gaze to the side.

"Uh, merely that earning your praise is a...worthy pursuit."

"He means you don't compliment people very often, Seeker." Varric tossed. He and Bull had finished searching the room and were standing in the inner doorway.

"Wha-well, I...give compliments when they are necessary. Throwing them out every other sentence would cheapen them." Cassandra huffed and stood up.

"Nothing in the room, Seeker" Bull inserted.

"Your compliments must be worth a fortune then," Varric snorted.

"More than you have earned in a lifetime, Dwarf." She turned her head sharply to Amahri. "Come on, if there is nothing here we should be heading for camp before it gets very late."

Amahri smiled up at her, hiding his desire to laugh only minimally, and rose to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

Blackwall ran a cloth absently along the metal rim of his shield, cleaning the grime of the day off of it as he talked. Amahri was sitting cross legged next to him, hands gripping his knees and his eyes staring up at the Warden with fascination as Blackwall related a tale of fighting darkspawn in a cave at the beginning of the 5th Blight, the one the Elven mage had defeated as the newest Grey Warden.

Amahri loved to hear stories, especially involving the Grey Wardens, even though they sometimes left him quiet and thoughtful. Blackwell knew Amahri saw himself in Surana, although he would never dare to make the comparison aloud. She had not been Dalish, but that mattered little to the tale of the young Grey Warden who had given her life to end the blight. She had been young and inexperienced, had led a small band of heroes-friends-to victory over a seemingly unbeatable evil. It was an inspiring tale for the young Herald, and also one with a somber ending.

"Did you ever meet her? The Grey Warden who killed the archdemon?" Amahri asked as Blackwall finished his own tale.

"No. The Grey Wardens were very scattered at the time. Many died at Ostagar. I never had the chance to meet her." Blackwall turned his shield to reach the other side more easily. Amahri shifted and pulled his knees up under his chin, letting his eyes drift to look at the camp fire.

"Is it true she only became a Warden just before Ostagar? That it was only a few months before she fought the Archdemon?" He asked.

"By all accounts, yes. She'd only just come from the circle. Hadn't had any experience in the real world." Blackwall answered.

"I wonder if she was scared." Amahri sounded like he was speaking more to himself, but Blackwall still answered.

"I'm damn sure she was. We all are at times, no matter how much practice or experience a person has had." Blackwall looked down at Amahri and smiled gently at him. Amahri was staring up at him again and returned the smile briefly, before it was hidden by his arms as he rested his head against them. Blackwall finished cleaning his shield and set it aside; shifting to enjoy resting by the warm fire. Blackwall could read Amahri's thoughts in those shining eyes. He wanted to be brave, to be able defend his friends, to be worthy of the respect of a Grey Warden like Surana-and Blackwall. It made Blackwall's stomach turn. He was not worthy of anyone's respect. Especially not the Herald's. Now the lad, he was. He had the warrior's respect and more. You are who you choose to follow. The familiar phrase came to Blackwall's mind again. The Herald made him better; or at least made him want to be better. Blackwall knew he had Amahri's trust and respect. He himself had come to care a great deal for the young mage who had suddenly had so much responsibility thrust upon him, and who tried so hard to live up to the expectations of those around him. Since joining the Inquisition a few months ago Blackwall had started to pray to the Maker more frequently than he had in years; that this one would not be required to make the same sacrifice to stop the Breach that Surana had made to stop the Blight. If it were at all in his power to shield Amahri from that, Blackwall would gladly give his life for the Herald's. That would finally be a worthy action.


	4. Chapter 4

It's strange, having something which is feared and terrible become familiar and even reassuring. Not that Bull would term it exactly as such. He'd been around magic for years. Saarebas first. While they were respected among the Qun for their submission to it, they were still gruesome. Once Bull had been away from the Qun for some time he'd been around another mage, although she continually protested this fact. Her magic was rare, always directed at enemies, and while Bull was used to it he still made sure to be well out of her line of sight during combat. The Qun had taught him this fear; of demons and of mages alike. They were practically one and the same to his mind. But now—now Iron Bull was no longer of the Qun. He was Tal Vashoth. For the last month he had been thus. It still startled him to remember it at times.

Usually sudden remembrances of this fact came when he noticed something he would have previously reported to the Ben-Hassrath. But this one came in the middle of a battle, and with another realization: he was completely relaxed while fighting with a mage at his back.

When he'd fist joined the Inquisition and started traveling with the so called 'Herald of Andraste' he had been exceedingly put off by the mage, not that he showed it. The kid was a twig Bull could break in half with one arm he reminded himself—no exaggeration. But he used magic in ways Bull was unfamiliar with. He was not a trained fighter; almost all his skills were focused on bolstering allies. The first time Bull felt the tingle of Amahri's barrier engulfing him he almost lost grip on his axe. He'd never had magic like that near him before. And again, when Amahri first healed a wound in camp one night. Bull had been reluctant to let the elf near it, but Cassandra and Varric had dismissed his attempts to avoid it by downplaying, and he wasn't about to admit it made him nervous to let the elf heal it. That had been an experience indeed. He knew in theory from listening to the others talk that the elf could heal, but he hadn't seen it. And it had been a pretty nasty wound; a Hurlock had taken a chunk out of his shoulder. It was completely back to normal when Amahri finished, obviously drained, but smiling up at Bull with satisfaction. He hardly knew how to feel about that and was barely able to thank him. That was nothing to being healed in combat however.

It had only happened once so far, but the memory was vivid still. The party had been flanked and were fighting in close quarters with a Giant on one side and White Claw raiders on the other. Bull had focused on the Giant rather exclusively, a mistake—one of the rogues slipped into their circle and stabbed Bull in the side before Cassandra had been able to turn and send her sword into the rogue's back. The wound was deep and blood was flowing from it-fast. He'd have been on the ground in a moment but for Amahri's quick response. At first it felt like the same warm, almost numbing sensation of the healing he'd received before but then it 'snapped'—he hardly knew how to describe what it did to him—maybe like taking a big gulp of particularly strong ale but even more punchy. Every muscle in his body felt it- and then he was swinging his battle axe again. His side still felt strange; it was hot, and maybe a bit like pins and needles, as when you sit cross legged too long and then move. After the fight was won he looked down at his side and saw it was not healed, at least not completely. It wasn't pouring blood like it 'should' have been, but it was certainly not good as new either. Amahri had insisted on his sitting down for a proper healing then and there.

And all this, all this had become 'normal'. Amahri's magic had improved in the months since Bull had first met him. Lightning and fireballs now entered the fray, and Bull did not worry about being out of the way as he once did—he trusted Amahri to hit his intended target only. And the odd feeling of a barrier going up? It was now a regular part of the rhythm of combat. Amahri had become quite proficient at timing his barriers to take the biggest hits for his "protectors"—Amahri seemed to do the most actual protecting of anyone. And healing? Well that was just damned practical. Amahri teased Bull that perhaps he had become careless in combat of late; he came to Amahri so often with small injuries to be healed. In truth he wasn't taking any more damage than before—less with the barriers actually-but he saw no reason to waste supplies with a mage like Amahri on hand.

The crack of his axe coming into contact with armor-and then silence. Another battle won. Bull easily slid his weapon back into its place and half turned to check on the others. Cassandra was pulling her sword from the corpse of a fallen ghoul and Varric was checking on Bianca. Amahri was leaning on his staff and panting slightly. His increase in offensive participation was not without some cost. Bull sidled over to the youth and gently—although it still was dangerously close to knocking him off balance—clapped him on the shoulder.

"Nice timing on those barriers, as usual, boss. You're gonna make me lazy. I might start letting my guard down if I never get hit."

Amahri smiled up at the Qunari—he always appreciated compliments and Bull knew he still needed to build some confidence in battle.

"I hardly think you're in any danger of losing your edge, Bull."

Bull rolled his shoulders exaggeratedly in a stretch. "Well, I suppose that's probably true. I _am_ pretty good." He grinned and Amahri laughed good-naturedly at the warrior's bravado before turning to follow Cassandra's call.

Bull wasn't generally sentimental, but he allowed himself one brief moment now. When they'd first met Amahri had asked about the Qun and life in it—and about what would happen if the Qunari conquered the Free Marches. The answer had disturbed him-and Bull could now admit it had disturbed him too. Saarebas and Bas Saarebas didn't laugh like that under the Qun. Some mages even had their mouths sewn shut. Bull wouldn't have wanted to ever see 'Dalish', the Chargers not-mage, or Amahri forced under the demands of the Qun. Well, at least now he had no conflict over that. He was Tal-Vashoth. And he could fight to protect them without a second thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Varric walked up the steps to the battlements of the ruined fortress which only a few hours ago had been the site of….something he could hardly describe. A dragon, Grey Wardens, the Inquisition forces all fighting for control of this place. Adament. It was impressive, Varric would give it that. He sighed as he reached the top of the stair and looked out across the sand blown walls to the dunes beyond. The sky was just starting to show some color as dawn approached. Varric felt something lift in his chest with the lightening sky. This was all crazy, but at the same time...they were alive. They'd stopped Corypheus from getting his demon army. They-the Inquisitor, was really winning. It was….something. Varric walked slowly across the stones as he mentally tried to process everything from the night before. He nearly walked into the person sitting on the walkway before he saw them.

"Woah! Sorry, I….Oh. Inquisitor…." A series of emotions ran through Varric before he stopped talking and just absorbed. The Inquisitor did not look nearly so pleased as Varric had been feeling a moment before. He looked...tired? Maybe just lost in thought? Pained? Varric crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, smiles. You ok?"

Amahri nodded slowly.

"Mmm." Varric looked him over more closely, unconvinced by the weak nod. "What's up?" He liked the kid and he wasn't half bad at cheering people up, he fancied. Might as well give it a shot now.

"We went into the fade, you know." Amahri said evenly. Varric frowned. Ok so this was serious.

"Yes, I heard. And you came back. Again. Pretty impressive." Varric sat down.

"You didn't hear everything, I'm sure. We met a-spirit, or something. In there. She, it, looked like the Divine." Amahri was still staring ahead, words pouring out. Varric raised an eyebrow. "She showed us, me, what happened at the conclave."

He paused. Varric prompted. "And?" He was half excited, half dreading what Amahri was going to say, though he didn't even really recognize his feelings.

"It was an accident. The mark. Me."

Varric's shoulders dropped slightly. Amahri explained.

"I just happened to be there. The Divine was calling for help and I stumbled into the room and he, Corypheus, was there. He was doing some ritual and dropped some magical orb, and I touched it. And…" Amahri lifted his hand, the raw scar on his palm was not currently glowing as there was no rift nearby.

Varric felt his head swim for a moment, then with great effort he tried to speak steadily.

"I see… Are you-alright? I mean I thought you...didn't believe in the Maker or being chosen anyway. But you sure look...upset." Varric tried to keep himself focused on his friend, ignoring his own feelings. He did-had? When asked a few days before he had told Amahri he did believe the Maker had chosen him.

"I'm Dalish." Amahri shrugged, as if that statement should explain everything he was feeling.

"Yes, you are." Varric said dumbly.

"I just… I'm scared. What will the others…" Amahri looked at Varric, fear flicking across his features. "Are you mad at me?" He asked.

Varric blinked and frowned. "What? No. Why should I be mad?"

"You believed in me. And Cassandra, and so many of the others. Even if they don't talk about it in front of me, I know they did. I know they believed I was chosen by their god. But I'm not. I'm not chosen by anyone…" Amahri looked away again. Varric studied him while he thought.

"I suppose people will have to decide for themselves what to believe, just as they did before." Varric closed his eyes a moment and then looked towards the rising sun.

"I think the Maker is smart enough to use accidents, if he wants." Varric looked back at Amahri. "So might other gods, if that's what you're wondering about." He added.

Amahri's eyes widened and he turned to Varric again.

"You said 'I'm not chosen by anyone.' Have you been thinking..that maybe your elven gods chose you? Not the Maker?" Varric asked. Amahri flushed slightly and looked down.

"The people… I never really thought of the gods interfering much in our world but… with everyone talking about the Maker choosing people and… I mean, it seems such a big thing. The rifts, some half human half darkspawn creature wanting to destroy the world… I guess I thought that whoever was going to stop such a thing must be chosen by-someone."

Varric shifted and squinted back towards the sun, which was now almost fully up.

"Forgive me, but shit. I'm not the best person to be talking about crises of faith with kid. I'd say you should talk to Leliana or-hell, Cassandra or something. But… all we can do is our best. I've never been what you call devout or anything, but… I've seen a lotta crazy stuff in my time. Something tells me there's more to what's going on in our crazy world than chance. So I believe… in spite of your saying it was an accident, that you are chosen." Varric's purposefully shifted his tone lighter to move on. "In fact I don't believe in accidents at all! Not anymore. I've seen too many that ended up working out in ways I can only describe as miraculous. So I still believe somebody intended for you to be where you were that day, and for you to be the one to have that mark." Varric gestured at it.

"Now, as for what you believe… I can't tell you what you should believe. That some other god than your own chose you, or that your own did, or that it really is a random accident you just happened to stumble into a magical object that gave you the ability to possibly save the world." Varric waved his hands. "But, I can tell you this. Whatever the case may be, I'll be right by your side to the end of it. And so will Cassandra, and Leliana, and Bull and Blackwall and a whole lot of other people around here. We're a team, come hell or random accidents. You don't need to worry about us leaving you." Varric smiled softly.

Amahri automatically returned the smile which faded quickly, then replaced it with a more genuine one.

"Thank you, Varric."

"Maybe try to sit somewhere Red will trip over you next time, ok? I'm sure she'd have more valuable insights than me." Varric winked.


	6. Chapter 6

"You will work for the mages you sought to use." Amahri looked levelly at Alexius.

"A headsman would have been kinder." Alexius saidm, throwing the Inquisitor's mercy back in his face. Amahri did not respond, but sent him away to begin serving his sentence. The Inquisitor rose after Alexius was removed and disappeared into the conference room. Blackwall watched him go.

"Heh. So the guy who nearly pushed the world over the edge is going to be changing linens and doing dishes. Interesting choice."

"You disapprove of the Inquisitor's judgement?" Blackwall asked. Varric shrugged.

"Not really. On the one hand killing people is the best way to make sure they aren't gonna be a problem in the future but...I think it's pretty obvious Alexius is done making trouble." Varric sounded a bit sad. Not for the danger now passed, Blackwall was sure, but probably for his son. Felix had tried to help them...and he was dying. There was nothing the Inquisition could do. Blackwall shifted. He hadn't completely lied; it was true he did not perform joinings and that he didn't know of any wardens about who they could take him to. Likely that would have been the case even if Blackwell were, well, Blackwall. With the order scattered and something obviously wrong about them-he frowned. No, justifications for why he couldn't help didn't make him feel any better. He'd not felt much guilt over taking Blackwall's name in the past...when he was alone and killing darkspawn, not hurting anyone. Privately serving his penance. Now he wasn't alone. He had 'friends' who thought he was someone he was not, he was very possibly letting an innocent young man die through his lack of actual knowledge of the wardens, and the Inquisitor; herald of Andraste, looked at him as a hero. The boy watched his every movement with admiration; if only he knew….

"Hey? You in there?" Varric shoved Blackwell's leg.

"Hm? Sorry, what?" Blackwall snapped back to reality.

"You looked thoughtful there. Do you disagree with the kid's choice?"

"No-oo. I mean….he deserved death, but I think there's also justice in making him work for those he meant to harm."

"Yea. Who knows, maybe he'll turn over a new leaf?" Varric chuckled a little darkly. The dwarf had seen enough bad in the world to be more pragmatic than that, but he always tried to be optimistic on the outside anyway. Blackwall smirked, but the sting was still there. What might these people think of him, should his crimes come to light?


End file.
